


Leave behind your heart

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Always, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Geraskier, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), but he doesn't get it, foglet, i assure you there will be a happy ending, she is the best girl, we must just suffer for it first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: ”And if it's… not just a flower?” Jaskier asks. ”And if it's not the djinn and not.. Yennefer.” It's hard not to spit out her name. The elf obviously harbors feelings for her and it seems unwise to upset him. ”What is it?”The elf hesitates, twirling the petal between his fingers.”Tell me, bard. Is there elven blood in your family?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 231





	1. Like petals in a storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrinGemstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrinGemstone/gifts).



> So i stole the idea from the lovely Orin, purely by accident I swear.  
> I have not written anything like this before so this is gonna be fun!  
> Hope you like it! <3

The first flower petal Jaskier notices is snow white.

He clears his throat, coughs and on his tongue he finds the single petal waiting, stained by the remnants of blood after the djinn attack.  
He studies it, so tiny and frail between his fingers. From the window behind him he can hear the sorceress purr and Geralt, his Geralt groan.  
Jaskier drags the elf with him towards town. There are questions he needs answered and the Witcher is obviously busy.

When they are alone he shows the petal to the elf. Simply holds it up and looks at him, demanding an explanation as if the elves have all of the awnser.

”What’s this?” He asks.  
”It was in my mouth. Is this the djinns magic? Or the sorceress?” Jaskier asks, his throat still a little sore.  
”Her name is Yennefer.” The elf says and picks up the petal and studies it. ”And no. It is past the season of flowers, but it could be just a flower.”  
Jaskier doesn’t like the phrasing of that. At all.  
”And if it's… not just a flower?” Jaskier asks. ”And if it's not the djinn and not.. Yennefer.” It's hard not to spit out her name. The elf obviously harbors feelings for her and it seems unwise to upset him. ”What is it?”

The elf hesitates, twirling the petal between his fingers.  
”Tell me, bard. Is there elven blood in your family?” The elf studies Jaskier closely, as if he suddenly would reveal pointy ears. This is not the question Jaskier expected. Also not a topic he is comfortable with, considering the prejudice roaring around the continent against anyone with barely a drop of elven blood in their veins.  
”Why? Is it an elven curse?”  
The elf gives him a forlorn smile.

”More like a disease. The word for it in your tongue would be Hanahaki. Only those of elven descent can get it, and even then only those who are in desperate unrequited love are at risk. It’s very rare and is only cured when the feelings are returned.”  
“But I'm not in love.” He cocks his head in confusion, and ignores the stinging he felt looking inside that window. The countess just broke his heart after all, and the witcher...  
“Then it's probably just a petal.” The elf says and shrugs. “And all the better for it. It’s not a nice disease, bard. Not many actually find their cure.”  
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“And what happens to them?” Jaskier asks, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know all the same. It can’t be what’s happening to him. He is not in love. And his elven blood is so far back it only shows itself through a longer life. There is no way this applies to him. But just in case, he must know.

“They die. Suffocate. The petals turn into flowers, sometimes vines. It fills their lungs and when they can’t get out anymore, it’s over.”  
The elf gives him the petal back and pats him on the shoulder.

“If you are not in love, you should be fine. Just keep a lookout will you? If you start coughing up petals, you need to find a healer. One with magic.”  
The elf squeeze his shoulder a little before he walk away. Jaskier stands there with the white petal in his hand, deep in thought.

~~

Yennefer pants against Geralt's ear, sweat cooling between them. Geralt says nothing, but there is a churning feeling in his chest. It is rather uncomfortable, and when Yen gets off of him and straightens her dress he just stays there on the floor.

“You didn’t have to save me, witcher.” She says, voice cold despite them just having mindblowing sex.

“You’re welcome.” Geralt mutters sarcastically, buttoning up his clothes again while still on the floor. When her dress is impeccable again she looks down on him with a calculating look.

“What?” he asks, staring back. That churning is getting heavier, a feeling close to regret, of something being off.

“Why did you make that wish?” She asks and Geralt blinks, surprised.  
“I couldn’t just let you die.” Geralt says and sits up. All his muscles ache from falling through the floor, and not to mention their recent activity.  
“Why not? You don’t owe me anything.” She says and Geralt snorts.  
“You ask this after you fuck me?”  
“I am asking you this after I fucked you yes.”

“You saved Jaskier.” Geralt shrugs.  
“That’s all?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows clubs up her forehead.  
“You are powerful and clever and that would have been a shitty death.”  
Yennefer's eyes twinkle and she smirks.

“Not beautiful?”  
“You already know that you are.” Geralt stands up slowly and dust of his pants. He means every word he says but it doesn’t feel right.  
“You have known me for a day. That wish is a big commitment.”  
“I know. But it saved you so it was worth it.” He looks arounds, out the window. It would seem the others left. Well, he can’t really blame them. But his stomach does an uncomfortable flip anyway.  
He leaves the sorceress behind. He knows he will meet her again. The churning in his chest intensifies and he hurries his step towards town. He needs to know Jaskier is safe.

~~

Geralt finds him outside the tavern. He is leading Roach with their packing strapped on their back. He is alone, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. He just dislikes the witch, is all. He is not in love with anyone.

Geralt reaches him and they look each other up and down. Geralt certainly looks a bit beaten up and Jaskier can’t claim to be much better. He hasn't taken the time to clean up yet, his shirt still unbuttoned at the throat and spotted with his blood.

“Alright?” Geralt asks him, frown on his face. Jaskier nods and tries for a smile.

“You?” he asks, motions a hand towards Geralt. “Sounded a bit like… ah.. you fell through a floor?” Geralt gives him a small smile and no, Jaskier is not in love. He is merely not used to seeing that expression is all.

“I did.” And then Geralt does something completely unexpected. He lifts his hand and thumbs away some of the dried blood off his chin.

And Jaskier does his utmost best to ignore his aching chest.


	2. To press my head between your shoulderblades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...at night when light is fading.

There are more petals. Why the fuck are there more petals? Jaskier spits out petals of sky blue and the softest pink. He wipes the saliva from his chin, trying to keep from retching. No more than five, but that is five too many.  
He is not in love, especially not in unrequited love. Who wouldn’t love Julian Pankratz de Lettenhov? The countess did break his heart, yes, but that was not the first time. Why now? If it would happen to him, would it not make sense to spit fucking flowers when he was chasing her?  
He drags his hands over his mouth and chin again, making sure nothing is sticking to his face before he turns and makes his way back to their camping place for the night.  
The leaves rustle under his feet as he walks between the trees. The season for flowers is indeed over, it’s barely the season for leaves anymore. The few that clings to the trees with an impressive stubbornness is turning from a fiery red to a greyish brown.  
Jaskier strolls into the little clearing they are staying in for the night. Geralt has unsaddled Roach and is rolling out his bedroll. Jaskier plops down by the tree where he leaned his lute before he had to excuse himself for a moment. He picks it up again and strums a tiny melody that's been on his mind for a while.  
As he does he watches his witcher. Geralt. His white hair in the fading light. Deft hands picking up bowls and a mortar and herbs, grinding Melitele knows what else together. The smell of his potions is unbearable, as per usual, and he still cannot believe that Geralt drinks that by his own free will. He wonders what Geralt's breath smells like.  
Something itches at the back of his throat, but he swallows hard a few times until the feeling goes away. It’s nothing but a cold, he tells himself.  
As they settle in to sleep for the night, Jaskier pretends not to think about it. Who would he be in love with? Out here with no one around but a horse and a grumpy, longhaired, wellshaped piece of witcher? No, there must be something else going on.

They meet Yennefer again, not even a month later. When Geralt disappears away with her Jaskier has to turn away and cough up petals, and to his surprise, a leaf.  
And Jaskier leaves Geralt to his sorceress.

~~ 

Geralt is pulled to this woman in a way he cannot explain. She is beautiful, yes, and intense like nobody else. Her eyes an electric violet, her breasts smooth and round, her thighs firm around his hips as they once again collide, this time against the stable wall. Her kisses light his skin on fire, her hands bold, her voice velvet. 

But there is something missing that he just can’t seem to put his finger on. It is absolutely lust he feels for this woman, and she for him. She knows it and she demands it. And when they are done, their limbs untangled and a hard kiss pressed on his lips, Yennefer disappears into the night.  
Geralt looks after her, the taste of her still on his tongue. 

At the inn there is already a room booked for him, courtesy of Jaskier no doubt. But of the bard himself there is not a trace. There is a pinprick of worry. Jaskier usually says something if he runs off somewhere, lest he is being chased away by his lovers lover. Not unheard of, and Geralt is usually the one having to deal with it.

He quickly searches the inn, around it on the outside and then the tavern across the street. Not a sign of him.  
Geralt returns to ask the innkeeper if anyone has seen his mouthy, pompeus bard. But no one has. Not the waitress, not the patrons, not the beautiful lady hanging around in the corner who undoubtedly is in Jaskiers taste.

Finally it is the stableboy who has the answer he seeks. Geralt is pointed towards the guard house, and as he gets closer he can hear roaring laughter and Jaskiers lute.  
As he enters he can see Jaskier in full entertaining mode, hips swagging and shirt halfway unbuttoned. It is a sight indeed, he is almost glowing in the light of the fireplace. Jaskiers attention is again and again drawn towards a big man with his hair set in a ponytail, sitting by the wall watching the bard right back. 

A sting of irritation flares up in Geralt, Jaskier should know better than to just take off. Even Geralt can tell the guard is very handsome, despite the scars running over his face. Or maybe because of them, but Jaskier should know better anyway.  
He hangs back a little, as if not all the guards already spotted him, and watch the event unfold. The bard has a certain way when someone caught his eye, Geralt has seen it many times. All the signs are there, and it is as frustrating as always. Jaskier has always been attractive, no one with eyes can deny that, but something about the way Jaskier puts himself on display tonight doesn’t sit right.  
There is an edge of desperation, a hint of tension in his shoulders, a lonely gleam in his eye.  
Geralt watches, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as Jaskier does that thing where he twists just so that it shows off his ass and his neck in the most sinful way. He can see the guard with a ponytail lock in, his eyes darken, mirth going to hunger.  
Jaskier sees it too, he licks his lips and smiles.The game is coming to an end.  
Somehow Geralt feels like he is losing.

A few more songs, the guards are rowdy and getting drunker by the minute. The last notes ring out and suddenly Jaskier notices Geralt. His easy smile gets a little stiff, his arm high in the air in finishing pose. Why the fuck did Jaskier tense up? Geralt realizes he is frowning and tries to smooth it out when Jaskier makes his way over.

“I thought you were with Yennefer.”  
“I was.” is all he offers up. Irritation still there, that Jaskier would take such a risk when he is not around. Jaskiers lips press into a tight line, Geralt's eyes flick down to them and back up to his eyes. Jaskier looks almost hurt, but that wouldn’t really make any sense.  
The guard that caught Jaskiers attention is eyeing them across the room. 

“He looks nice. I thought you had better taste than that.”  
Jaskier bristles.  
“Maybe that’s how I like them. I can take care of myself Geralt.” Jasker stalks away. The guard slowly rises and walks after him, throwing a dirty look at Geralt over his shoulder.  
It’s an effort not to follow them. Geralt steps back outside into the cool night air, and takes a deep breath. The guard house is still loud, cheering and belching and mocking bouncing around, muffled behind the door. 

On the other side of the building someone is coughing. Harsh and dry and then a ragged breath. He can hear a door opening and closing and then bodies colliding with a wall.  
So that was probably Jaskier. For someone saying they can take care of themselves, that cough sure sounded bad. Had Jaskier been coughing for long? No, Geralt would have noticed.  
There is a shuffling of boots and clothes.  
“Gods, bard, how can even your breath smell like flowers?”  
“Oh, uh- Can we… Can you wait a moment?”  
“Why? You have been eyeing me all night, why if not for this?” There is a groan but Geralt doesn’t like it. Not one bit. Jaskier asked to wait and the fucking guard didn’t listen.  
Before he can stop to think Geralt rushes around the corner and sees them against the wall.  
“Wh.. Geralt?”  
“Fuck off Witcher.” The guard growls at Geralt, clearly not liking the interruption.

Geralt says nothing, just grabs Jaskiers arm and yanks him out of the man's grip. He changes his hold so that his hand wraps around Jaskiers wrist and he stomps away dragging Jaskier behind him.  
“What the fuck Geralt?”  
“ASSHOLE!” The guard yells but does nothing to stop them.  
“Geralt, fucking, just let me go!” Jaskier twists his arm to free himself but Geralt marches them down another street before he relents.  
“What the bloody hell was that?!” Jaskier is raging, waving his arms around in that prissy way he does when he is pissed.  
“You told him to wait and he didn’t listen.”  
“Neither did you!” Geralt stops and frowns. Jaskier is still yelling, angrier that Geralt thought he would be for that. “And this isn’t the first time! You are not the judge of whom I spend the night with, Geralt. That is my fucking decision.”

Oh.

Did he really do that? True, he might have stepped between Jaskier and a conquest on occasion, but only if they seemed like they would treat him badly.  
“I just want you to be safe.” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier looks like the witcher tore his heart out of his body.  
Suddenly Jaskier starts coughing violently and he turns away. Worry pierce him again and he reaches out to… he’s not sure what, pat him on the back, hold his shoulder, but Jaskier bats his hand away and keep his back turned.

When the coughing leaves Jaskier gasps for breath for another few moments. Then he looks up, facing the night sky. His voice is strained and hoarse, somehow a soft baby blue petal stuck to his chin.

“You are my best friend, Geralt. But I can take care of myself. I do most of the time. It’s my decision where I seek my love, just as much as where you seek yours. And if you want to leave me behind without a word for Yennefer, fine. But don’t expect me to sit around and wait for you.”

That. No. That isn't’ what Geralt is doing. Is it?  
Jaskier doesn’t wait for a reply. He starts walking towards the inn, long strides and not looking back. Silently Geralt follows behind him, cold and unease seeping under his skin. Inside the inn, and up the stairs. Jaskier still won’t turn around when they reach their doors Geralt reaches out and grabs his wrist.  
“Jaskier. I'm sorry.”  
He finally turns to look at Geralt then. They look at each other for a long moment. The frown Jaskier was wearing melts away. He places his free hand on Geralts and gives a little squeeze.  
“Good night Geralt.” He lets go, Geralt's hand burns where Jaskier touched him, and the door behind Jaskier closes with a click.

The morning is a strange experience for Geralt. There is an itching on his hand. It’s red and slightly sore. When he scratches it there is a scent in the air. He can’t place it, but it’s warm and familiar. Soothing.  
After breakfast Geralt gets approached by the village's huntmaster. Men have disappeared in the woods, the last two only a day ago. No one has seen anything, the fog too thick for any witnesses to see anything. Unwilling to send more out to die, he offers Geralt the job. After some haggling Geralt sets out on the hunt for a foglet. 

Killing it is a quick business, but a bloody one. There is only one hunter alive when it is disposed of, with a nasty clawmark on his leg. Geralt's hand itches all the while. It’s not distractingly bad, but when he takes off his glove his skin is raised, warm. It’s hard to resist the urge to scratch at it, but without knowing what caused it, it would be troublesome to disturb it.  
It takes the better part of the day to bring the hunter back with him. For some reason he thought it was a good idea to leave Roach behind with Jaskier, a decision he regrets right about now.  
When the hunter is returned safely and the payment is made, Geralt returns to the inn.  
Jaskier is there to drag the story out of him as usual. His smile is bright, tongue peaking out as he writes.  
But he doesn’t meet Geralt’s eyes. 

And Geralt hand itches more than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr!  
> Im Dapandapod!


End file.
